Scraps For Stray Cats
by Bawgdan
Summary: Machi doesn't think she is better than anyone, so why shouldn't she extend the courtesy to Hisoka? A dinner date is harmless.
1. Divine

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Hisoka asked Machi to stay for dinner as a bluff. He did not plan for her to say 'yes'.

She stands in the doorway, her bag loosely hanging from her shoulder with a look of impassivity. He immediately becomes suspicious and laughs outside of his head. Machi is colder than a dead body. Like Hisoka, she doesn't act upon things without a motive.

Hisoka plays coy about his abrasive nature, but he isn't a moron. Far from it. Machi thinks he is, so that begs the question—why?

"Does this place have room service?" She gently shuts the door behind her. Her expression remains unchanged.

"Of course! I'm a rolling stone but I do have standards." Hisoka can't stop smiling. He loves being surprised.

Machi throws her bag into the shadows of the couch but makes no other movement. She stares back at him, waiting...

Hisoka's smile grows. He could outright ask her. That's what he really wants to do.

He doesn't. Things never go as planned when he's impatient.

"By the phone, there's a menu and the room service extension." He points to the dimly lit corner by his bed. The window absorbs their translucent reflections, stretches their bodies across the night sky. Hisoka watches her journey to his nightstand through the window. Admiring and exciting himself.

Machi opens her hands to pick up the receiver but she stops mid reach and looks over at Hisoka.

"You're a horrible host, Hisoka. You should be the one to order the food." Her hand falls back to her side.

Looking thoughtful, Hisoka stops grinning. He leans back in the chair and crosses his arms.

"I was honestly hoping you'd choose our meal. I'm not good at picking and choosing. What if I order the whole menu..." He tells the truth with a watery sigh.

Machi picks up the laminated menu. For a place that is far from a bed and breakfast, Heaven's Arena has a wide variety of food.

"They treat you guys well huh?" She scans down the row of desserts.

"Sure." Hisoka rests his chin in his hand.

Machi appears to freeze as she weighs her options. He can't help but lap up the strong scent of her aura. It amazes him, really, how feminine she is on the surface, but her energy smells like fire scorching a forest. A small pinch of cinnamon is there as well.

She is always expecting confrontation.

"What do you want?" Machi asks him quietly.

"Surprise me!" Food is just a means of not dying. His real appetite cant be satisfied with a trip to the corner store.

Machi picks up the phone at the very end of his sentence. After three oppressive rings, someone finally answers and Machi's voice goes up two notches. The way she orders the food sounds like she's giving a man instructions on how to kill himself. Machi speaks very specifically about how she wants her steak cooked—no mashed potatoes. She prefers steak fries. If she wanted to eat her food mashed, she'd run to the supermarket and buy baby food. She robotically articulates her grievances. How rich is your chocolate cake? If it doesn't taste like the bottom of a bowl of sugar, they can keep it...

Hisoka tries to envision what fighting Machi might actually feel like if she's so particular about her food. She doesn't order a steak for him with the same directness.

"Steak is so pedestrian..." Hisoka bemoans.

"Sorry. You didn't strike me as a tilapia type of person." Machi hangs up the phone.

Hisoka presses his tongue against the inside of his jaw. His throat rattles with a honey-like hum.

"Don't think I've ever had it..." He sucks his teeth.

"It won't be ready for an hour."

"I'm not surprised considering how much you ordered. You're trying to break my wallet." Hisoka sighs again.

"You don't really care about those kinds of things, Hisoka."

He thinks arguing with her about it would be funny but he doesn't bother denying it. Hisoka shrugs his shoulders and gets up from the table, turns his eyes away from the window.

"You're absolutely right." He begins to tug his shirt over his head. She flinches.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to take a shower—I lack the attention span required to sit and stare at you for an hour." Hisoka hiccups and continues to undress himself.

Machi has nothing to counter him with. Very few things cause her to be speechless. Hisoka's incredible eccentrics always leave her a bit more confused than their last interaction. She doesn't like him. That much she is sure of—hasn't since the day she laid eyes on him.

Although Hisoka isn't her favorite person, Chrollo suggests often that she open up more and she trusts his judgement of character. She trusts him with her life so why wouldn't she take his advice?

Be a little more open to those who care about you.

But she doesn't believe Hisoka cares about the Spider.

"Machi?" He stands in the doorway of the bathroom. The fluorescent lighting doesn't reach the naked spots of his body she wishes not to see. She could've continued to live her life without knowing how well defined his v-line is.

"No." She says with a dark quickness.

"Is tilapia any good?" Hisoka asks anyway.

Machi inhales hard enough that her shoulders rise. He isn't going to move until she answers. It's possible that Chrollo is wrong. After all, he is still a man in a world much bigger than he is. There are things he doesn't know.

"Wouldn't know. I've never had it." Machi puts her pride away.

Maybe Hisoka needs the same amount of time it took her to be more receptive. He is still an interesting person.

And he is satisfied with her answer, disappearing behind the door.

Then, Machi knows that this is going to be the longest night of her life. She could leave, but she is here because she is curious. Something about Hisoka is damaged in the unfixable kind of way. People who don't talk about themselves typically are that bad-off. Broken people see each other.

She isn't going to leave until she has at least a better understanding of his baggage. Obtaining clarity will end her worrying.

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One hour becomes an hour and thirty minutes. Listening to Hisoka move around in the bathroom, she keeps her head down, hidden in her arms, nose pressed against the cold surface of the table. For a man, Hisoka takes a ridiculously long shower. She wonders if the water is still hot. Does he even take warm showers? He seems like the type of guy who can only rub one out in icy water.

When the sound of water pounding against the bottom of the tub stops, she perks her head up with one eye open. She watches the shadow of his feet flutter back and forth through the line of light peeping under the door. All she can hear is the echo of his shallow breathing and feet sliding against the wet floor.

The door opens and she presses her face back against the table. Her shoulders tense. She is really anticipating her steak. From the cave of her stomach, a growl shakes up her rib cage.

"Still not here yet?" Hisoka has a warm quality to his voice. Machi can't quite put it into words. She can, however, associate it with feelings. Like waking up to the sun on your eyelids. Keeping her eyes closed could be to bridge that brings them together.

"Nope." She clears her throat.

"Just when I was starting to work myself up to an appetite." Hisoka smells like artificial strawberries. He shakes the table as he reclaims his seat.

"So you weren't even hungry!?" Machi shoots her head up.

Hisoka's wet hair curls around his face. Squinting at her as if he can't quite grasp the question, he shoves a pinky finger in his ear. Soap foam drips from behind his lobes, vanishing under the white towel-like robe. Heaven's Arena is meticulously sewn on the chest of it with gold thread.

"Not particularly. I just wanted your company." If Hisoka weren't himself, she probably would've fallen for it completely. Almost but she catches herself. He gives her an 'emotionless' smile—sincere nevertheless.

"Hisoka." She conveys her dislike with each syllable.

"Machi. By no means did I force you to have dinner with me. I didn't even coerce you like a proper gentleman. I asked and you, against your better judgment, accepted the invitation." Hisoka looks less like an odd stranger and more like a vulnerable person without the gimmick.

"My question to you is, why?" He points a finger at her. Machi focuses her vision on the sharp end of his fingernail. Everything else fades, like the darkness of his room begins to swallow him. He had left the bathroom door open and its the only source of bright light.

Machi sits straight in the chair. Crosses her legs too. She makes him wait a long time before answering.

"I don't like you." Machi's tone never changes. Regardless of her mood.

"Obviously."

"But..."

"But...but...?" Hisoka sort of sings. If he stays exposed like this for the rest of the night, its very likely she will walk away thinking he's a reasonable person.

"I want to change that." It isn't that hard to be honest after all. Chrollo said it wouldn't be.

"Well I'm flattered." He couldn't care less. The Phantom Troupe is supposed to be an assemblage of soulless freaks. Hisoka knows the truth—they're a bunch of sociopath's robbed of purpose. When he laughs, Machi thinks he is ridiculing her.

Hisoka may not know all of the world's secrets, but he is absolutely certain of one thing. He is highly self-aware while Machi...not so much.

"So change my mind." Machi makes the demand unfeelingly.

Hisoka sits his arms on the table. The robe opens when he leans forward, revealing the stretch of his wet chest. Machi wonders if he hadn't bothered to dry off, then what was he up to for so long when he got out of the shower?

"Challenge accepted." His eyes change with his mood but Machi hasn't been able to figure out what he's been thinking since she arrived.

Room service finally knocks on Hisoka's door.

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He wants to point out that Machi isn't properly using her knife and fork. She doesn't realize that the way she cuts through the meat is primitive—clearly, no one has corrected her. Hisoka wouldn't label himself as arrogant, but he is aware that his brand of 'certainty' comes of this way. It's more amusing than it is pitiful. It gives her an air of innocence that is unbecoming of her persona.

"Machi..." He swallows his food before he speaks.

Struggling to chew a wad of meat, her resting bitch face contorts. She makes a humming noise.

"It's already dead." Hisoka can't help himself.

It takes her a moment to understand what is 'dead'. She swallows the chunk and glares down at her plate. Confused, she misunderstands him.

"You're stabbing at it..." He looks at her seriously, sort of mirroring her bewilderment.

"Why am I shocked that making fun of the way someone eats is not beneath you?" She proceeds to stab the fork into the steak again.

"No. If I were making fun of you, you'd know it. I'm making an observation."

"Suddenly I'm not hungry." Machi leaves the fork erect.

Hisoka's shoulders sag. Looking at the wall behind her, he pretends to think deeply about something, twisting his lips to one side of his face. His true thoughts are that he doesn't think he's better than her when it comes to their upbringing. That's not how he determines people's worth.

Unfortunately, Machi doesn't know that he is a man of nuance. Hisoka sits down his fork and runs a hand through his wet hair. A light cough escapes him.

"C'mon. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings." And then he manages a smile.

"You didn't."

"I've unsettled you. Therefore, I've hurt your feelings."

Machi just takes a long sip of water, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. He begins to wonder why she continues to torture herself being in his presence if they aren't making progress.

Hisoka takes a sweeping look at the five slices of cakes she had ordered and a plate of cinnamon rolls.

"Let's play a game." He begins.

"What kind of game?"

"Two truths, one lie."

"Why?"

"Because you don't like me but you're trying to overcome it," He says matter-of-factly. Machi doesn't counter him. She swipes at a cinnamon roll—she isn't going to bother with the steak while he sits across from her.

"Are you going to humor me, Machi?"

"Sure." She swats at a loose strand of her hair.

"You start us off. Tell me two of your truths and one lie. I will figure out the lie."

Machi doesn't like that Hisoka hardly breaks eye contact when he talks to her. She feels like he can read her mind. He can't but he has a very knowing look—he always looks like he is withholding some dark secret. Without the makeup, she can stomach his face. She is even willing to acknowledge that he is attractive. It's likely that the cinnamon roll has turned her mind soft with it's sweetness.

She tries to think of one thing to lie about. Lying is something she hasn't made a habit. For the most part, Machi is transparent to those who know her.

Holding up an index finger, she starts with, "I'm a virgin."

Then there is a light pause. Hisoka doesn't laugh like she had expected him to. He keeps an unusually serious straight face instead.

"I've never peed in a sink." Machi lifts her middle finger.

Still, Hisoka does not change his expression.

"And my favorite color is indigo." She has a steely expression as well, holding three fingers up in the air.

Hisoka scratches the bare stretch of his neck, then slithers his hand under the fluffy white robe to scratch at his chest.

"You've absolutely peed in a sink at least once," he says without a hint of emotion.

"Geeze..."

"Am I right?" And just like that, in an instant, his eyes lighten up.

"I don't know whats worse. You thinking I'm a virgin or that I'm uncivilized enough to piss in a sink."

"You come off very chaste."

"What is that even supposed to mean, Hisoka?" Her voice rises.

"Machi. It's a compliment."

"You're implying that I don't know how to have fun." She notices how often Hisoka punctuates her name.

"As someone who doesn't know you—you come off as a humorless person. Always so serious." This moment is indicative of that, so he feels, but Machi has reasons for being the way that she is.

"Your turn." She defeatedly shoves another cinnamon roll in her mouth.

Hisoka resumes cutting at his steak, "Alright."

He eats a piece before telling three lies.

"I'm allergic to peanut butter." He washes the meat down with the longest gulp of water, his Adam's apple dips.

"When I was a kid, I was inappropriately touched and now I have intimacy issues."

This is what Machi had wanted but she isn't fond of how it's all unfolding. She hated that at some point, she had let go of her control on the situation. Hisoka has the keys to this prison.

"My body count surpasses fifty."

"Your body count for what?" He's killed more people than that of course. She's killed more people than that.

He just smiles. The darkness of his room emphasizes the sharp dip of his nose. The bright depth of his eyes like two full moons.

"I don't like this damned game."

"We are getting to know each other."

"You're not actually allergic to peanut butter!" She sputters.

"Correct." None of it is true, but his skin still tingles as if he had readily exposed himself naked. She thinks he is someone's traumatized lost son. "Your turn."

"I've never done drugs." Machi licks the sugar around her mouth.

"Interesting."

"I'm happy."

"Hm. Ok." He mutters with a mouthful.

"Now is the only time I've ever told a lie."

"Oh, this one is easy!" Hisoka sings.

"How do you figure?"

Footsteps thunder down the hallway on the other side of the door. Hisoka allows it to capture his attention. How should he go about 'not' offending her?

"You're a professional thief. Is it really possible to be happy with other people's belongings. You don't even covet the things you steal. You just take because you can." He no longer wants to finish his plate, wasn't all that hungry from the start. Not for food that is.

Machi's anger wafts around him like smoke. He flicks his tongue across his teeth when she stands, knocking the chair back. Holding her fists tight, she doesn't say anything. Sweat collects around her brows.

Indeed, she smolders. He can imagine flames eating up an expanse of foliage.

"That was your lie? I was bluffing." His eyes widen with fake incredulity.

"Then what does the Spider mean to you if we're not cut from the same cloth?" That has been the question lingering above everyone's head. Hisoka has this unwillingness to participate in their togetherness.

She knows it has nothing to do with the title. He doesn't need it. If he wanted to, he could punch a hole in the sun. He doesn't need the Spider like she does. Perhaps this is why she dislikes him. He is unabashedly free while they've all be struggling to figure out what exactly freedom means.

"I never said we weren't cut from the same cloth, but I know you of all people aren't happy. I'm not happy. Happiness is just an unending race after an orgasm for people like me and you." Hisoka's joy can't be quantified with warm feelings. Sentiment doesn't move him. "We are more alike than we are different, Machi."

"Don't compare me to you."

"Humans are always looking for purpose. I'm not exempt from that. Neither are you. What really separates us from the rest is how we go about achieving the fleeting bursts of dopamine." Hisoka really looks like a normal person for the first time and not split between motives.

Machi hasn't even bothered to consider that she isn't the only one on a mission here. It then occurs to her that she had mistakenly told him what she believed were all truths. How horrifying it is coming to terms with the wisest person in the room being the person you loathe.

"We have two completely different definitions of happiness."

"I doubt it." Hisoka folds his arms across his chest. Her anger so thick in the air, he can taste it on his tongue. He salivates.

Machi stops herself from arguing with him. A light flickers on in her head, shining through her wide gaze. Hisoka smiles with all of his teeth.

Her hip nudges against the table as she storms away. Their silverware clatter against the plates.

"I didn't mean to rub you the wrong way." Hisoka watches her gather her belongings, unable to mask his amusement. She doesn't dignify him with a response. Her aura fills the room to the ceiling. Warmth expands in his gut, morphing into a hot tornado of butterflies. The sensation reaches the inside of his thighs.

When she slams the door, she leaves behind a potent cloud of her energy. Hisoka inhales it all into his chest until his erection is solid.

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**A/N: So I couldn't help but fantasize about what would've happened if Machi had stayed for dinner with Hisoka. One day I might revisit this and make it a longer fic and actually attempt to sail the ship. It's going to take more than a one shot to do that. Thank you for reading, leave a review if you like!**


	2. Fatalism

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The buzz of her ringtone disrupts the turning wheels of her anger. Machi digs around in her bag for the phone, the flashing LED light giving her a glimpse of the lints balls, dried out tubes of lipgloss, the worn edges of her wallet, and wads of tissue. She picks up the phone from the unzipped hidden pocket. Hisoka's name flashes across the screen. She hasn't even made it to the tenth level of Heaven's Arena.

_**Ding.**_

Someone steps onto the elevator but Machi doesn't look up. She squishes herself in the corner, back pressed against the cold railing. Hisoka calls again.

_**Ding.**_

The person steps off on the sixth floor. She just holds her vibrating phone and the eerie electronic swing of a saxophone tone clogs up the cramped space.

_**Ding. Ding. Ding.**_

Hisoka calls five times. She makes it to the lobby floor and thats when she decides to answer. No 'what do you want' nor an acrid 'hello'.

"Hisoka." She speaks calmly but her head pulsates with frustration.

"Machi." The measure of his voice is smooth like nothing had just transpired between them.

"Yes." Machi steps out of the revolving doors of Heaven's Arena. The warm blast of a summer night's air combs through the wild tangles of her scalp.

"What am I going to do with all of this food?" He doesn't apologize.

"Shove it all up your ass," she hisses a little too loudly, covering her mouth with a hand. A passing old lady and her grandson grimace at her.

Hisoka's sigh shakes into the phone. Her ear fills with his voice like she's submerged underwater.

"So you're not going to hang up?" Hisoka knocks her off balance with this question.

"You called me five times you son of a bitch!" Machi continues to terrorize the public with her loud voice on her way back to the bed and breakfast.

"I'm sorry." He throws it on her like dead weight.

"For what, Hiso—"

"For being patronizing. I just can't help it sometimes. It's my worst flaw. I shouldn't have subjected you to my unsavory ways of having fun." His breathing tickles the curve of her ear.

"Why do I still feel like you're teasing me?" She stops her shoulder from colliding with a stranger.

"I'm not. I'm being very serious, Machi."

_Machi. Machi. Machi._ Her name starts to sound like a bad word in his mouth. She can _hear _him smiling.

"Whatever. I'm letting it go." She spits onto the pavement.

"Can I make it up to you?"

Machi lets his question hang in the air before pressing the red 'end call' button on the screen.

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When she made the reservation, the elderly couple who ran the bed and breakfast expected a one plus one. Her arrival alone bewildered them. Very few women travel alone—the whole point of a bed and breakfast is supposed to be a special get away for two.

Machi just wanted to sleep somewhere that felt like a home and not some swanky establishment with a name that isn't pronounced the way it's spelled. Anything with the intent to intimidate her, she avoids. Mirror-like marble floors and chandeliers, it just isn't the kind of environment she seeks for comfort.

The old married couple projected their own feelings onto her. They made her pitiful pancakes with pitiful strips of bacon. Poured her a glass of pitiful orange juice. Everything polite thing they did, they did it out of pity for a seemingly lonely woman.

Thankfully, she returns at the right hour. No one is around to pester her about her 'sight-seeing' or to ask if she wants company. She has had enough company to last her for the rest of week. Hisoka had drained her.

A tall mirror greets her on the opposite side of her room. It faces the door and she is welcomed by her very tired reflection. The room is a time capsule of sixty years or so. Homely floral print on the wall paper. A lacy material for her bedding. The covers are stiff like they are old relics, but they smell freshly washed. The creepiest thing about this place are the meticulously organized pictures of cats that occupy every wall. Fat cats, skinny long cats, little cats, happy cats, scared cats...

Closing the door behind her with a soft click, Machi walks towards the mirror to observe herself. First she shimmies out of her clothes. She stands in her panties. Sticks a finger in her belly button and her stomach growls.

Hisoka really ruined her appetite. She holds out her tongue, gagging.

The couple had left her a box of chocolate candies on the bed. It won't fill her up but it will just have to do until tomorrow. As she crawls into the bed, she decides that brushing her teeth and showering can also wait for tomorrow.

From the depths of her bag, her phone rings again. _Tomorrow_— she tells herself. Sprawls her body and gets right ahead to unwrapping the first candy. Machi sinks her head into a pillow. As she slides the candy into her mouth, she bites down, tastes peanut butter and she thinks of Hisoka. Then she rolls over for the tiny trash bin next to the bed to spit it out. Peanut butter will never taste the same again. She throws the entire box into the bin.

The night ebbs on. This is the most quiet she has gotten in a while. Always coming and going, she really hasn't had time to declutter her brain. She rolls on her stomach. Her arm dangles from the bed. The shape of the jacaranda tree brushes against the window. Moonlight makes the purple of its flowers appear a washed out white. Machi sleepily realizes it's the only tree she has noticed in this city. _The couple must've planted it deliberately._

She closes her eyes for a long time. Breathing the old smell of wood and potpourri. It's shitty, really, that moments like this are sporadic. Chrollo keeps them all busy, save for Hisoka.

Suddenly, there are three light taps on her window. Her eyes flutter open. Coming out of her half sleep, her vision takes time to adjust to Hisoka's figure floating among the pale jacaranda flowers. His energy radiates from his body like rings around a planet.

Machi runs out of her cool. She rises, her fist taking up the covers as she jerks out of the bed. Feet gliding across the green rug, she tosses the mass of sheets onto the floor in a fit of rage before opening the tall window.

"You hung up in my face." Hisoka says sourly. He wore nothing but his pants. The wind ruffles his loose hair, snakes around her topless torso. Her nipples harden.

"I sure did." She locks her eyes with his, remembering that she had told him earlier this morning where she has been staying.

He leans his head inside of the window, perfectly balanced on a weak branch struggling to not snap under his weight.

"I'm not a conventional woman, but I still have boundaries." Machi isn't as angry as she ought to be—she just wishes she had predicted it first.

"Hearing me out is the least you could do for dipping out on an expensive free meal." He wags a finger in her face and she slaps his hand.

"You're acting like we just had a bad date."

"We sort of did." People are either drawn to his charisma or try their hardest not to be. She wonders if he's left a trail of broken one sided relationships behind him.

"No. We did not. You asked for my service and offered me dinner. A date requires mutual sexual attraction and prior negotiations." Her right eye twitches. Machi tries her damned hardest not to let him win.

"I'm coming in." The branch cracks from the tree as Hisoka frees it of his six foot burden.

"Absolutely not."

But he's already climbing inside. Hisoka's overpowering allure obliterates her calm. His toes touch the floor. Machi contemplates striking him where he stands but it's a lot easier to do in her head. They'd bring the entire house down to its foundation if they broke into a fight. Neither of them are above doing so, but there is a time and place for everything. This isn't the time. Not when they are supposed to come together some weeks from now.

Hisoka begins to observe the tiny room, specifically discovering the spots Machi has clearly disrupted. The clutter she made on the nightstand catches his attention. He picks up a green bottle of nail polish, turns to look down at her small feet. Her toe nails are sea-foam green. His usual smile ghosts across his pale face. She notices the long reach of his eyelashes as his attention crawls up her feet, her thighs, to her glower. Her throat becomes dry.

"I dislike you greatly. I'm content with it staying that way." She deadpans.

"That won't do. If we are always on the verge of fighting, wouldn't it upset Chrollo? What's that rule of ours again?" He sits the nail polish back down, then proceeds to make it his business to gather the bedding strewn across the floor. She watches the spider tattoo on his back twitch with his muscles. The crack of his ass peeks above the loose hold of his pants.

"You'd know if you were around more." She chews the inside of her jaw.

"I remember now. We don't fight each other. That's all we have been doing, Machi. Shouldn't words count like our fists? Words do have the potential to hurt more." He drops the covers onto the bed, his smile vanishing from his face.

"It's not fair to leverage rules at me that you, yourself, have no regard for." She quips.

Hisoka sits in the white heap of covers, placing his hands on his knees, digging his nails into the fabric of his pants. He lets out a long breath and his chest deflates. In a lot of subtle ways, he reminds her of Chrollo with his efficient confidence. The way he uses specific words. If Chrollo is inspirational, then Hisoka is his insightful counterpart. He breaths again and with the slow roll of his stomach, it dawns on her just how beguiling he is. He'd be even more dangerous if he walked the Earth pretending to be some normal man. Purple flower petals float inside and land around her feet.

"Machi, why do you think so little of me?" He gathers a peculiar stoicism she's never experienced with him. The question seems all the more genuine.

_Machi. Machi. Machi. Machi..._

"You've given me no reason to trust you. That's why."

"But I think so highly of you." Hisoka's tone stays the same. It makes her doubt herself. The air blowing through the window hits and disperses up and down her back. She has nothing more to say other than to ask him to leave. Which he isn't going to do until he gets what he wants out of her. What he want's hasn't been made clear. It never will be because Hisoka isn't readable. How long did it take him to master such a skill?

The potpourri begins to make her nauseas. Hisoka's stare spears right through her. She makes a step back, blinks slowly to gather her thoughts but he appears before her in a second. The speed he drops his shadow onto her makes the loose fall of her bangs flutter, but he's taller than she is. Machi tilts her head back to meet his eyes. He still smells like that strawberry shower gel..._or was it shampoo_? All of him overwhelms her yet she doesn't show him this.

Hisoka speculates this—if she were truly unconventional, she would've made an attempt on his life by now. Machi makes no sudden movements of aggression. It disappoints him because while it isn't what he had gotten up with the sun desiring, the thought of her chopping him in the neck had delighted him. Machi is more flesh than she is a ruthless delinquent.

So he tests this assumption. He wraps a hand around her throat and kisses her with scientific exactness. She responds like an ordinary woman easily persuaded by five calls in a row. If she had truly made up her mind, she never would've answered.

"I think all this time you've wanted me to see your nipples." He hums into her mouth and she rolls back each word with her tongue. She ropes her thin arms around his neck, pressing herself against the cold hardness of his body.

Hisoka thinks it's funny how things just happen. He finds things without looking often. He is either a magnet or precise at manifesting things to entertain him.

So he concludes that while he has wicked inclinations, motives are what matter. His course of action? He is going to fuck Machi and steal her ability to remain collected in his presence. One day, she will be compelled enough to fight him to the death over it.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading. Leave a review, like, share or whatever!. This was just a little experiment for the future maybe. I really like the idea of the ship but I still have to not only finish the manga so I stay married to canon, but I try to be as authentic as I can. I really love Machi and I want to write more about her. All errors I miss I will eventually find a clean up. Thank You!**


	3. A Taste Of Your Own Medicine

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Machi wakes up sweating. The bright sunlight warms her face in an uncomfortable way. Hisoka sitting up against the pillows startles her, scrolling through his phone with a straight face. The sight of him saps away her drowsiness. He doesn't turn his head but he glances at her out the corner of his eye, then smiles, has the nerve to say nothing.

The outside commotion from the street floats inside of the open window. A gust of hot air rolls in too. Machi kicks back the covers and shoots up, very naked. She's never been one to meditate with her body. In a sense, she hasn't ever felt like she belongs to herself. Why Hisoka suddenly stirs up feelings of insecurities is beyond her.

"I figured you weren't a morning person, so I didn't wake you up." Hisoka goes back to tapping at his phone with his thumb. He slumps under the covers.

"And you couldn't just leave?" Machi rasps loudly, so sweaty her skin sticks to the sheets.

Hisoka lets out a breathy sign. He places his phone face down on his chest, blinks up at ceiling, blinks again, shifting all of his attention on her.

"I could've but..." He looks down at her chest.

An ugly long pause. A forced silence. Machi's heart pounds so hard, her ears ring.

"I didn't." Hisoka closes his eyes.

"You have the worst sense of humor." In this moment, Machi realizes that Hisoka has just uncovered something hidden within her. She can't bring herself to ask him to leave because she honestly doesn't want him to.

"Do you hear that?" Hisoka cups a hand around his perfect ear.

"The cars?" Machi blushes.

"No. The sound of...shit I don't know the word for it." Hisoka is awful and he revels in it. The sound of Machi losing the unspoken battle. Machi tugs the covers back over her chest but doesn't lay back down.

Hisoka wonders why she bothers hiding herself. He had her toes in his mouth. They've far surpassed discretion. Her spine curves her back perfectly.

"Machi." He has a thought but it isn't fully formed.

Machi looks down at him over her bony shoulder.

"I have to pee." Hisoka gets up quickly, phone sliding off his chest and into the depression of sheets.

His footsteps shake the old floor, thudding into the tiny bathroom. Flipping on the light, he lifts back the toilet seat and pisses without closing the door. Hisoka lets out a groan. Machi's mouth waters and she is disgusted with herself for it.

Somehow, now knowing what his penis looks like has shortened her life expectancy. She enjoys the spasms of his muscles as he leans to flush the toilet. Hisoka doesn't exactly move like a cat but he has the cool gait of a criminal. Machi hadn't noticed until now. It's one thing to witness how strong he is when he fights. Watching him navigate mundane activities such as rinsing his mouth in the sink or using her toothbrush is an entirely different experience. All of his movement that doesn't require hurting someone is done with thoughtful restraint.

Hisoka bends over the sink to observe a spot on his face. Machi crosses her legs under the sheets. Her inner thighs are warm all over again.

Is she lustful because it's been a while since she's had sex or is it all his doing? Their sex wasn't exactly empty-feeling either.

Hisoka starts a shower and the old pipes moan in the walls. Machi snaps out of it.

"Hisoka you're making yourself too damn comfortable." She gets up and slams a hand against the door before he can lock himself inside. Machi forces herself into the steaminess of the bathroom.

"You're more than welcome to join me. You're not comfortable enough, clearly." Hisoka isn't joking. His seriousness stuns her.

The rush of the shower makes the awkward silence bearable. Mists of water coat their skin the longer they wait for the other to speak first. Machi's hate for him is just as irrational as her sudden desire. This isn't how attraction is supposed to work, she knows that much.

"Just ask for it if you want it." Hisoka encloses his fingers around her thin wrist, gently guiding her hand to his erection. Machi's breathing quickens. Her heart burns and all over her body is hot. Mist collects in her lashes. She needs no further prompting to take as much of him as she can in her hand. His erection grows against her palm and she averts her eyes. The stimulation of his nearness, the expanding fog on the mirror, it overwhelms her. He catches her mouth mid face-turn. Machi expires all over again.

Hisoka kisses her with so much feeling, it causes her to self-reflect on everything she thought she knew about herself. She's aware that this is his thing—forcing himself into people's heads. She believes she is strong enough to survive it.

"Do you want it?" He smiles against her lips.

One more time, and only one, he can occupy all the free space in her heart that she has to offer, because it is nice to feel wanted. She's never been treated delicately, ever, in her life. One more time will not kill her.

"Yes." She swallows. Wanting it to already be over so that she can be done with the intense feelings after riding out an orgasm.

"Yes what?" He knows how she feels. Machi won't admit it but his 'knowing' has softened the fall.

"Yes, please." She gives away all her power and it isn't hard letting go.

Resilient and austere Machi used to believe she was heartless. Not special by any stretch of the imagination. Before the Troupe, she perceived her life to be minuscule, picking through the trash of strangers. Chrollo told her that sort of thinking was destructive, but Machi has always thought it to be practical reasoning. She convinced herself over time, but it has mostly been performative for the sake of the Troupe.

After today, she will never feel the same. She takes the longest shower with Hisoka.

Experiences are supposed to give new definitions. Machi evolves. It took ten hours to do so. A shame she has to give Hisoka credit for it.

Hot air circulates around the room. It defeats the purpose of taking a shower. The soap suds quickly mix with their beads of sweat.

"Can we pretend this never happened." Machi's wet hair soaks the pillows. Hisoka glares down at her with an impossible to read expression. Half of his raw penis is already inside of her.

"Deception is what we're supposed to be good at." Is all he says. Machi nods her head three times.

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September came fast.

The next time she sees Hisoka, he keeps his word. He acts like nothing happened. His eyes glaze over whenever she speaks, as if she were any of the other Troupe members. He arrived in Yorknew last with no excuse, offered no apology, and looks straight though Machi like she told him to. It makes her wonder if she had made up the intimate aspects of their one-night stand. Is it normal for men who aren't in love to kiss you on the mouth?

"Are you okay?" Pakunoda uses a match to light her cigarette. They watch the cars going in and out of the hotel hosting the auction from a restaurant across the street.

"I'm very okay." Machi attempts to reassure her but her voice falls flat.

Pakunoda looks around the restaurant, blowing a stream of smoke out the side of her mouth,

"If you carry it around in here..." Pakunoda taps at her own chest " it will make you sick."

"The heart isn't on that side of your chest." Machi pokes her straw at the ice cubes in her cola.

"I'm making a point." Pakunoda rasps.

Hisoka hasn't left a vacancy in her head like she had hoped for. It clicks that perhaps the whole thing might've been intention, then she becomes angry.

"I get the point. There's nothing I'm carrying around. I'm just tired of all the running around today." Machi sips through the straw, a bad feeling brews in her gut.

Pakunoda reaches across the table for Machi's hand.

"Just take my word for it, damn it!" Machi moves it off the table swiftly.

They silently stare at each other. Pakunoda's cigarette burns and ashes onto the thick white table cloth.

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End file.
